Keenan whistled. "Remind me never to get you mad at me. Yes, I'll do it."
Kelly said, "Are you sure, Barry? It could be a hard one."
"So when have we been afraid of hard ones? What are we, a bunch of old women like the Provos, making peace?"
"I want fast action here. Can you be at Dublin Airport at nine o'clock tomorrow morning? I'll have a plane pick your men up and fly you straight to Hazar."
"By God, woman, you move fast."
"That's the way I prefer to work. I've also just got word that a train is leaving our freight yard at Al Mukalli in the Oman to go north into the Empty Quarter by way of the Bacu Bridge. It's carrying forty tons of high explosives meant for use in exploratory work in the American fields."
"Jesus," Keenan said. "A hell of a bang that would make, especially if the train happened to be on the bridge at the time and helped by a touch of Semtex. When does the train leave?"
"Three days from now, the seventh. You'll have two clear days in Hazar Town to get ready, and my helicopter can take you down to Al Mukalli to join the train. It leaves at four o'clock in the morning. You'll have four hours before you reach the Bacu, plenty of time to do what you have to. There'll only be the driver and fireman up front, and a guard at the rear. When you're finished at the Bacu, I'll pick you up in the helicopter."
"Suits me. I'll read the file and make a list of what we'll need." He turned to his men. "Dublin Airport in the morning, then."
She and Keenan got up. "We're flying back from Aldergrove this afternoon, then we'll refuel and carry straight on to Hazar. We'll be waiting for you when you arrive. You'll find my coded mobile number in that file."
"It's been a sincere sensation, Countess. I'll see you off."
Outside, he and his men watched the Volvo drive away. Casey said, "What a body on that woman. I'd love to give her one."
"You know your trouble, Sean?" Keenan said. "You don't know a great lady when you see one," and he kicked him in the right shin. "Now let's talk about this job."
Chapter
14.
B
OTH VEHICLES HAD GONE WHEN DILLON AND THE OTHER two got back to the pub. "In we go," he said. "And we'll have a drink at least."
Four old men were sitting in the corner drinking Guinness and laughing together. The red-haired young man who'd been having breakfast with his two friends was back in the window seat, also drinking Guinness and reading a newspaper.
Murphy was at the bar. "What's your pleasure, gentlemen?"
"Same as before," Dillon said. "I'll be back in a minute."
He went along the corridor, opened the snug door, and was out again in seconds, returning to the bar. They sat at a table and Murphy brought the drinks over.
"Will you be having lunch then?"
"No, thanks," Dillon said. "We've decided to get back to."
The red-haired man swallowed the rest of his Guinness and left. Quinn said, "You got the recorder?"
"Yes, everything's fine."
"Great, we can listen to it in the Shogun."
"If we get a chance."
Billy said, "What do you mean?"
"Keep your shooter ready is what I mean, and you, Senator. Come on, drink up and let's get moving."
He paid the bill and said to Murphy, "Thanks, old buddy, see you again."
As he got behind the wheel, Billy said, "What makes you think we could be in trouble?"
"Just a bad feeling about those three fellas earlier. I could be wrong, but I've told you before, this is Indian territory."
Billy was beside him and Quinn was in the rear seat. "What do we do?"
"If we're stopped, I'll keep my hands on the wheel to make them feel good. You and Billy have your guns ready under your coats, and get out on the passenger side so the Shogun's between them and you."
A black Ford car appeared from behind them, the man with red hair at the wheel.
"Why am I always right?" Dillon asked.
At that moment, a red Toyota skidded out of a farm track up ahead and braked to a halt, blocking the road. Dillon got close, quite deliberately, as he braked. The one with the beard slid from behind the wheel, and his passenger, wearing a reefer coat, produced a .38 Smith & Wesson.
"Can I help you?" Dillon asked.
"Yeah, by turning out your pockets and producing well-filled wallets. This is Real IRA country, boyo. As enthusiastic members, we're always in the market for funds for the organization."
"Why, that sounds like highway robbery to me," Dillon told him.
"Exactly. Out of the car."
The red-haired man had eased from the Ford and took an old Webley from his pocket. "Come on," he called.
Billy and Quinn got out, each with a hand under his coat. "Hands on heads," the bearded man shouted.
"Now," Dillon called, and reached for the Walther tucked against the small of his back under his coat, drew it, and rammed the muzzle against the bearded man's ear and fired.
Billy's hand came up, his arm extended, and he shot the man in the reefer coat in the left hand. The man screamed and dropped his Smith & Wesson. The red-haired man, totally shocked and covered by Quinn's Walther, stepped back in alarm, lowering his gun. Quinn froze, and his hand and the Walther shook. Seizing the opportunity, the red-haired man's arm swung up and he shot Quinn in the right shoulder, sending him staggering. Billy half-turned, his Walther extended, and shot the man through the right thigh. He lurched back and fell over.
Dillon slid from behind the wheel, went round the Shogun, got an arm around Quinn, picked up the Walther he'd dropped, and put it in his pocket. "You take the wheel, Billy. I'll see to the Senator."
He opened the rear door of the Shogun, found the army medical kit, and put it in beside Quinn, who was clutching his shoulder.
Dillon squatted down beside the bearded man, who was holding a handkerchief to his shattered ear, his face twisted in agony.
"I'd say you and your friends need some medical assistance, old buddy," he said, still maintaining his American persona. "I could call the RUC for you, but I don't think you'd like that."
He got in the back of the Shogun. "Move it, Billy, and just keep going."
He got Quinn's jacket off and then unbuttoned the shirt, eased it down, and checked the wound. "How is it?" Quinn asked.
"Still in there. Not gone through. Don't worry, this is an army kit, there's everything necessary to treat a gunshot wound."
"What he needs is a bleeding hospital," Billy said.
"No, Billy, what he needs is to get the hell out of Northern Ireland."
He found a scalpel in the box and cut the sleeve away. It was surprising how little blood there was. He got an antibiotic ampoule out and stabbed it into Quinn and did the same thing with a morphine ampoule. Only then did he apply a field service dressing pad and tie it firmly in place.
He got what was left of the shirt off him, then leaned over the backseat, thanking God they'd booked out of the hotel, opened Quinn's suitcase, and found a checked flannel sports shirt which he helped him into.
Afterwards, he found a sling in the kit, eased Quinn's right arm into it, then got his jacket back on. The rent in the sleeve hardly showed, and he could always put his raincoat over his shoulder on the way to the plane.
He eased Quinn back in the corner of the back seats. "Okay, Senator?"
"I let you down," Quinn said. "I can't believe it. I just couldn't pull that trigger. I don't understand--a man like me."
"I've said it before, Vietnam was a long time ago. Just take it easy."
He got out his Codex and called Ferguson at the Ministry. "Oh, do I have a tale of woe."
"Tell me." Dillon did, sticking to the bare facts. Afterwards, Ferguson said, "What do you want me to do?"
"Get us a slot out of Aldergrove. We should be there in an hour. They've got the Beechcraft out of Brancaster registered in my name. It'll be two hours to Brancaster, so have an ambulance there in three to pick Quinn up and take him to Rosedene. I'd also contact Henry Bellamy if I were you."
"I'll get back to you."
Quinn said, "Rosedene?"
"A special little hospital we use."
"And Henry Bellamy?"
"Professor of Surgery at Guy's Hospital, the finest surgeon in London, many people think."
Quinn closed his eyes and opened them again. "What about the recording?"
"That's a thought. Let's hear it."
He switched on the tape and it came through, clear as a bell. "A pleasure to meet you," Keenan said. "What do I call you?"
A
fterwards, Quinn said weakly, "She's crazy, of course."
"A raving loony. She must be," Billy said.
Dillon nodded. "She always was a bit that way, Billy." His Codex rang. It was Ferguson, who said, "Your slot's arranged and the ambulance will be at Brancaster. And I've fixed up Henry Bellamy. Are you certain the Senator's up to the plane trip?"
"He has to be. If I deliver him to the Royal Victoria Hospital in, they'll call in the RUC. Does he need that kind of publicity? I think not, and the three badly damaged specimens we left beside the road outside Drumcree would agree."
"All right, we'll keep our fingers crossed. So Kate Rashid was having a meeting with Barry Keenan? How did you find out?"
"Some inspired computer trawling by Roper. I won't bore you with the details. The only important thing is, I knew she was going to the Royal George in Drumcree, and Roper discovered that it's Real IRA country and Keenan runs things, and remember what he's famous for? One of the best bombmakers in the business. It seemed logical to assume Kate was up to her old tricks."
"And is she?"
"She certainly is. We planted a recorder in the snug at the George and retrieved it later. You've got the whole meeting on tape. Anyway, I have to go. We're just coming up to Aldergrove."
"Just tell me what her target is."
"The bridge at Bacu in the Empty Quarter. It spans a huge gorge. Carries an old railway line and the main pipelines linking the interior oil fields to the coast. Keenan's agreed to blow it up for her."
Ferguson was horrified. "She can't do that, it would cripple world oil supplies."
"I think that's exactly the point, Charles."
T
he flight went smoothly. Quinn, dulled by the morphine, slept most of the way and safely arrived at Brancaster. Dillon and Billy went with him in the ambulance to Rosedene, where they found Henry Bellamy waiting in reception, having a cup of tea with a pleasant middle-aged woman in matron's uniform. Dillon had removed the moustache and tinted glasses.
She kissed him on the cheek and said in an Ulster accent, "Your hair looks dreadful. I suppose you've been up to fun and games again."
"Absolutely, Martha." The gurney came in, pushed by two paramedics. "Be good to this one, Professor," he said to Bellamy. "He's a Medal of Honor winner. He received a gunshot wound in the right shoulder approximately four hours ago."
"What treatment has he gotten?" Dillon told him, and Bellamy nodded. "Prepare him for the theater, Sister, and you and your friend can check back later." He smiled. "And shampoo your hair, Dillon, just for me."
T
hey got a taxi, and he and Billy shared it to Stable Mews. Billy said, "She's got to be stopped, doesn't she?"
"I'd say so."
"And that means us?"
"I'd say so again, Billy, if you're game."
"You know I am, Dillon. But I won't tell Harry until the last minute. He'd only worry. When do you think it will be?"
"Well, you heard her tell Keenan and his boys to be in Dublin tomorrow morning. The job itself is scheduled for three days from now."
Billy nodded. "That's good. I'd like to get on with it."
The taxi rolled up to Stable Mews and Dillon got out with his bag. "Oh, and Billy," he murmured, "I also wouldn't tell Harry you've just been using a shooter now. As you say, it gets him worried."
"He'll know," Billy said gloomily, and left.
Within minutes, Dillon was in the shower, shampooing his hair vigorously, the black dye trickling everywhere. Only when his blond hair was spotless again did he step out and towel vigorously.
He pulled on black cords, a black Armani shirt, and his old flying jacket, combed his hair, and checked himself in the mirror.
"Not bad, you old sod," he said softly, and his Codex rang.
Ferguson said, "Where are you?"
"Stable Mews. I'm on my way."
"Make it Roper's. I'll see you there, I've had him check this Bacu place. And don't forget the recorder."
Dillon put it in his pocket, left the cottage, went to the end of the street, and hailed a cab.
D
illon found Roper at his computers, but no sign of Ferguson as yet. Roper was working away at the keys and downloading a mass of material. He stopped and looked Dillon over.
"You're looking well, but I suppose action and passion suit you. Ferguson filled me in about the gunplay. What about Quinn?"